


Flutter

by NoelleAngelFyre



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: A drabble about two people who can't kill each other because they love each other too much, Autoerotic Asphyxiation (very little), Canon-Typical Violence (implied/referenced), F/M, Murder Fantasies, Questionable Choices during sex, dysfunctional romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: "I know what you need."





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little morsel to nibble on, for my wonderful fans...I suppose this could be a deleted scene from Iris and Victor's first love scene in "Swan Song", but really, it doesn't have a set place or time. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Zsasz is not mine, nor do any characters affiliated with Gotham and/or the Batman franchise belong to me. I only own Iris - delightful little maniac that she is. Thank you, and please enjoy.

“I know what you need.”

Delicate fingers—long, slender, white and spidery in form, with those glorious nails that cut a man’s skin…He loves her hands. He adores her hands—wrap neatly around his wrists, first one and then the other. She brings both to her throat, lovely slim column of porcelain flesh, and leaves them there.

_I know what you need._

Her pulse flutters, like a little bird, when he presses down. He sees the marks: blue, purple, black, blossoming fat across this flawless canvas of life. He sees them, but never brings them beyond the realm of vivid imagination. He presses, nothing more, and he drags her forward. He drags until she’s flat on a rippled pool of ivory cotton and blue silk. He stops. He looks. Studies, rather. Velvet-black streams wide in silk ribbons; white skin is flushed rose-pink and gleams wet with sweat; blue eyes are dark, but they burn and he wants to touch the fire and feel it scald his seeking fingertips.

_I know what you need._

“You.” He breathes. “You.”

_Always you. Only you._

Two nights later, she brings his hands to her throat—she knows how dangerous his hands are; she knows what these hands have done—and this time he presses. This time, he tries the experiment. He presses until her breath hitches, tight, like a hangman’s noose. His fingers curve in place, and it is a perfect fit. As though his hand was always meant to settle, right there, just like this.

He pulls her close and steals the stuttering breaths from her lips. The marks are not deep: they will fade, sooner than later. But he will always remember.


End file.
